


The Good Old Days

by daisyisawriter91



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 19:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16101926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisyisawriter91/pseuds/daisyisawriter91
Summary: Garth finds the best possible news, that the one he loves returns his feelings, at the worst possible time.





	The Good Old Days

The treehouse was in rickety disarray, a glance from the ground could tell that much. But as Garth ascended the ladder, he could truly see how bad it was, and it broke his heart.  
The wooden planks were permanently discolored from rain and rot, the colors from strewn about paints were chipping away, and papers had been torn off the jutting out nails. There were holes in the roof that Garth could see the bare branches of the tree through.   
Garth climbed into the tree house, bending his back at an uncomfortable angle and drawing his knees in close to fit. Old leaves leftover from autumn and fresh snow crunched every time he moved.  
He supposed it was some type of cruel metaphor. Childhood was far behind him, and though he wanted nothing more than to return to it, he couldn’t. No matter how much he kept his inner child safe, he wasn’t allowed to be the same as he was when the treehouse was in its prime.  
The treehouse was a grim reminder of everything he’d been thinking. With the death of Garth’s father and the recent distance between himself and his best friend, Garth’s entire world was losing a bit of color.  
Every time Garth did something to grow up, he lost a bit of himself. And it had become imminently clear that he’d have to become an entirely new person when he entered his thirties.  
Garth scanned the walls for any trace of himself and his best friend, Benny. Any traces of the paint they used to graffiti the walls with, of the dents from all their clumsiness, the marks carved into the wood to commemorate silly dates.   
Garth hadn’t been in the treehouse since his eighteenth birthday, when he’d been saying a formal goodbye before heading off to college. He’d sat in here with Benny and they talked. They talked while an entire party went on without them inside, even though both of them were shipping out. And Garth remembered his biggest regret. He’d had five opportunities to kiss his oldest friend, and hadn’t taken any of them.  
Despite it being sixteen years since Garth had first fallen head over heels in sophomore year of high school, his heart still ached for the man he’d grown with. The one he wished was beside him.  
They had managed to stay best friends despite going to different colleges, but it was one of the worst period in Garth’s entire life. But they’d gotten through it, and remained thicker than thieves until four years ago.   
Benny had never really been interested in relationships before then, but met his first girlfriend at the age of twenty-eight and was near instantly smitten. And while it was a dagger to Garth’s heart, he was truly happy for Benny. The man deserved more happiness than anyone else in the world.  
Andrea, however, ruined him. After only eight months of dating, she finally left him, heartbroken and distraught. And Benny had pushed everyone out, including Garth. But Garth had known him for nearly thirty-two years, and knew what he needed to do to stay friends.  
But they were never the same. And Garth missed him like crazy, every single day. The feeling was only heightened being back home in Sioux Falls, a week after his dad’s funeral, in the treehouse Benny and Garth had spent every day in for fifteen years.  
Garth tried to look at all the fond memories, but they were all tinted with melancholy overtones. The only thing that wasn’t was…new. It was aged, yes, but not as old as the house, itself.  
A sealed manila envelope was nailed to the far wall, and it looked like it had never been opened in its indeterminate number of years in the treehouse. And it was addressed to him.  
Garth reached across the treehouse, leaning forward a bit, to grab the envelope. He carefully undid the clasp and reached inside to grab at the contents. Inside was a folded letter, a compass, and a locket, all miraculously intact.  
Garth chose to pop open the locket, first, and nearly started crying at the photo inside. It was of himself and Benny at age seventeen, bent over a phone book. Garth was forever giggling at a funny name (Hans Herbenschlakle, he still remembered). But one thing Garth saw in the picture that he hadn’t at the time was Benny’s expression. It was soft and incredibly fond. In fact, he looked like Garth was hanging the moon right before his eyes.  
It gave Garth’s hands a little tremble for when he opened the letter, eyes desperately scanning the page.  
 _Garth,  
You have no idea how many times I rewrote this letter, trying to find the right words. The ones that would make me sound the most romantic or whatever. But none of that matters now, because it’s four in the morning and you’re gone and all I can think about is how I should’ve kissed you. I should’ve taken you into my arms and told you I’ve loved you since we were fifteen and no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop.  
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell you in person what you mean to me, I’m way too scared. But if you read it in this letter, and you don’t feel the same, you can just rip it up and we can move on. Because no matter what, I can’t lose you. You’re still my best friend, and nothing will change that.  
If you read this and you do feel the same way, no matter what time of day it is or how long it’s been since I wrote this, the offer will always stand. Maybe it’s just a stupid eighteen-year-old thing, but I can’t help but think that I’m never going to stop feeling this way.  
I put in the locket for obvious reasons, but I don’t know why I put the compass in here. It just felt right. Like…maybe your true north is to me? Or maybe it’s just to whatever happy ending you deserve. With or without me, you deserve a happy ending.  
But now I’m rambling and, I’m not ashamed to admit it, crying. You don’t have to tell me if you read this. Truth be told, I almost don’t want to give this to you. But I know I’ll regret it if I don’t.  
I’m sorry I waited so long. I hope you have a good time at college.  
Love,  
Benny_  
Garth stuffed the letter into the pocket of his jeans along with the compass. He slipped the locket over his head before he slid down the ladder. He couldn’t handle it, he couldn’t. Why did he have to find it _now_? While he was cleaning out his father’s house, while he was already close to tears at any given moment?  
Life was un-fucking-fair. Why couldn’t he have found it when he came back for Christmas any of the countless times? Why did he have to find it fourteen years too late?  
Garth swiped furiously at his eyes as he stomped back into the house, resisting the urge to slam the sliding glass doors behind him. He did that once, as a kid. With Benny.  
Great. Two ghosts haunted the dusty old house filled up with boxes. Just what Garth needed.  
The living room was full of boxes labelled with different things, as per Bobby Singer’s will. Charity. Sam & Dean. Friends. Garth. Benny. Because of course Bobby couldn’t leave out the boy who basically became his second son.  
Garth remembered how the living room used to be. Two armchairs in front of the fireplace. Bobby would sit in one and read a book, not so sneakily glancing up at Benny and Garth animatedly talking by the fire as snow drifted lazily outside. A couch big enough for four people being entirely dominated by two children watching TV, despite being scolded for bouncing on the couch. A coffee table with permanent rings from the fizziest drinks they could find in the summer.  
It was too full, too full, _too full._  
The cherry on top had to be a knock at the door, soft and patient in tone. Garth knew who it was, and wanted to scream at whatever deity was listening that it was entirely unfair.  
Still, Garth went to the scuffed old door and opened it to see Benny on the front porch. Scruffy, lovely, beautiful, grown-up Benny. Who had probably forgotten the letter he’d left fourteen years ago.  
“Hey, Garth. You okay?” Benny asked in his familiar drawl, exaggerated from summers upon summers in New Orleans. Garth couldn’t take it anymore. He burst into tears, right there, in front of his oldest friend and the man he adored.  
Benny didn’t take long to embrace him, gently.   
“I’m sorry.” Benny murmured in Garth’s ear, and it was so achingly familiar. Garth pulled away and went back into the house, trying to calm his sobs and failing, miserably. Benny followed, shutting the door behind them.  
Garth sat on the floor in front of the fireplace and brought his knees up to his chest. He wouldn’t sit in the armchairs, even the one belonging to him later in life. He couldn’t.  
Instead of commenting, Benny took one of the logs beside the pit and threw it in. He pulled a matchbox out of his pocket and threw it on the logs. There was always fresh kindling in the winter. That was one thing Garth never worried about at his dad’s house. So it didn’t take long for the fire to light.  
Garth sidled up to the new fire. Benny sat on the floor in front of him, casually, and for a moment, Garth was back in time. But everything was different. Benny was a grown man, and there was no Bobby to laugh at their behavior. And there was nothing to laugh at, he knew. The two were being rather somber. And in the home of his late father, all Garth could think about was the letter.  
Garth knew it wasn’t the right time, hell, he _felt_ it. He knew Benny had probably forgotten all about it. But he had to know. The lovesick teenager in him wouldn’t let him let it go.  
“Just tell me something, Benny,” Garth began. Benny perked up, but didn’t comment. It was for the better. If Benny spoke, Garth would likely lose his nerve. “The letter, out in the treehouse.” Benny tensed, so Garth changed direction in his question. He clearly remembered it. “How long ago did it stop being true?”  
Benny laughed, bitterly, and Garth wanted to stop him. He shouldn’t sound like that, it was wrong from Benny’s mouth.  
“What do you want me to say? I stopped feeling it years ago? Because that’s a lie. And I’m not about to lie to you. Truth is, I still feel that way. To this very goddamn day.” Benny replied. “When did you find it?”  
“Half an hour ago.” Garth answered. “Wish I coulda found it sooner.”   
“So you could reject me when it didn’t already hurt?” Benny asked, looking down at his crossed legs.  
“So I could tell you that you own my heart, without being guilty. Benny, my dad is dead. And here I am, like a damn teenager, telling the boy I’ve loved since I was sixteen that I love him.” It rushed out of him like a fountain, and once he’d started, he knew there was no going back. “I’m sorry.”  
Benny sighed, heavily.  
“This was never how I pictured it happening.”  
“How did you picture it?” Garth asked. Benny raised an eyebrow.  
“I really don’t think I should tell you.” Benny replied, which was not a reply at all.  
“What else are we gonna talk about? That time when we were thirteen and tried to prank Mr. MacLeod and got detention for literally a year?” Garth joked, hollowly. Benny smiled, half-heartedly.  
“Bobby was none too pleased with us, I remember that much.”  
“Yeah, that we got caught!” Garth pointed out. That got a genuine laugh out of Benny, and at the mere sound, Garth nearly forgot how to breathe.  
“I do recall that he was proud we almost got away with it.”  
“Those two had such a weird dynamic.” Garth muttered, remembering his dad’s interactions with their stern English teacher, and their, frankly hilarious, back-and-forth.  
“That they did…” Benny trailed off.  
All Garth wanted to do was twine his fingers with Benny’s. But it felt like a boundary they couldn’t yet cross. Something wasn’t right between them, and Garth just wanted to go back to their childhood. That would remove every bit of pain he was feeling.  
“I pictured it a lot in college,” Benny began. “You finding that letter. You’d find it over Thanksgiving and rush over to my house and tell me you were crazy about me. I’d take you into my arms and kiss the hell outta you. I’d take you back home for Christmas and tell my family you were my boyfriend.”   
Garth shuffled closer to Benny. Barely noticeable, but it made an impact.  
“I pictured it too, you know. You telling me how you felt. Stopped picturing it during college, though. Gave up hope.” Garth confessed. “Guess the timing never worked out for us.”  
“Fuck timing.” Benny mumbled. Garth chuckled, but didn’t comment.   
Benny reached forward and grabbed Garth’s hand without a word spoken. And there they sat, by the roaring fire, hand in hand, both trying to go back to when they were children.

 

There was a knock at Garth’s door. This wasn’t unusual, he got plenty of visitors. He made friends with practically everyone in the neighborhood, and was trusted with many responsibilities.  
The unusual part came in when Garth opened the door and saw no one standing there. Instead, there was a manila envelope one the welcome mat, addressed to Garth. It was startlingly familiar, and Garth had a sneaking suspicion he knew what was going to happen.  
Garth picked up the heavy envelope and walked back to his living room, swiftly shutting out the cold air. It had been exactly a month since Bobby’s death, and Garth finally felt like he was moving on. His dad would hate him being hung up on the past. That was just his way.  
Garth sat down on his couch and opened the envelope to reveal a heavy book filled with pages of scrapbook paper. The cover was mostly blank, but in a particular shade of red Garth remembered as being the color of Bobby’s armchairs.  
Opening the book, Garth was greeted with the sight of photographs, all old, and all either involving Benny or Bobby. And Garth studied each picture, trying to remember the stories behind every one of them. It didn’t always work.  
It took some time to flip through the book, all of his previous plans entirely forgotten. It detailed each year, and Garth wanted to cry. The nostalgia was intense and overwhelming, but he persisted.  
Finally, Garth reached the final pages. On the left was the most recent picture of himself and Benny, before Bobby’s death, sharing a beer. In it, he could see the way Benny was staring at him. With an amazing fondness that made Garth’s heart stutter.   
The right page was entirely blank of photographs, only two scrawling sentences written in Benny’s beautiful handwriting.  
 _Fuck timing. I’m in if you’re in._  
A smile spread across Garth’s face. Benny still felt that way. He still wanted Garth, after all these years. After Andrea…  
Garth had a call to place. He needed to start making up for lost time.


End file.
